


Flesh to Blood to Bone to Love

by fyredancer



Category: Supernatural, Tokio Hotel
Genre: AU, Crossover, Incest, M/M, RPS - Freeform, Twincest, Wincest - Freeform, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam picks a case where a nice suburb may be afflicted with incubi. Dean is in it for the lesbians going at it in public. Like every good case, there's a catch, and this one spells double the trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh to Blood to Bone to Love

**Author's Note:**

> For my beloved kuwamiko, finished (barely) in time to be presented to her on her birthday this past Sunday. This is more Wincest than twincest. I did NOT know kuwamiko was writing ME an SPN/TH fic when I began writing one for HER. Great minds, etc.

"Have you seen this one?" Sam asked, slapping a folded-over newspaper atop Dean's coffee mug and giving him expectant eyes as he settled into the booth across from him.

"Aw, c'mon, Sam," Dean said, swatting the paper aside without looking at the headline. "Are you still fixated on that one Seattle suburb with all the pregnant chicks? I already told you, stuff like that happens--"

"It's not just a high birth rate, Dean," Sam interrupted, picking up the newspaper and unfolding it partially, holding it up so that it filled Dean's field of view. "Look at this. Look at the headline."

"Public sexcapades," Dean read aloud. He snatched the paper out of Sam's hands, a grin beginning to form on his face, and spread the paper out between his napkin of silverware and the economy-sized sugar container. "Well, you've got my attention."

Sam snorted and settled himself in his side of the booth, satisfied that Dean would at least give the potential case another look. He stirred diner creamer into the transparent brown liquid in his mug that was masquerading as coffee and mentally reviewed his arguments.

Over the past six months, a small Seattle suburb had made national news for its skyrocketing birth rate. According to the reports, just about every woman who could get pregnant was turning up pregnant. Sam had thought it was worth looking into, even if it didn't seem to be an actual case yet, but Dean had vetoed it in favor of, as he put it, "taking out something that's actually hurting people."

Sam had set up a news alert for that town, anyhow. Stories of the high birth rate had been followed by scandals - high school students were sleeping with teachers, a teenage boy had come out because he'd slept with his softball coach, a young woman had slept with her uncle and broken the family into fueding factions, two upright Christian women had tearfully confessed they'd had a threesome with their parish priest, more than a few married men had reported anonymously that they'd found themselves sleeping with other men... it went on.

It wasn't merely the high birth rate in the town that set off Sam's warning bells. Not anymore.

"We should check this out," Sam urged his brother. He rolled his coffee cup between his hands, grimacing and pushing it aside as the overly hot mug threatened to scald him.

Their blond waitress returned to the table, setting plates in front of them with dull clacks as ceramic met Formica. Her red-lipsticked mouth twisted in something that was probably intended to be a smile and she moved off without a word.

"Peoples' lives are being ruined, Dean," Sam pursued the subject at hand, earnest. "It would be nice to get somewhere before deaths are actually involved. Or do we really have to wait until a headline involving lovers' suicide pops up?" He had a private bet with himself that that news alert would be next, so he was pushing this now before things got worse.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said, setting the paper aside and cutting into his side of sausage with vigor. "Don't be like that! Did you actually get through this whole article? Apparently two lesbians who said for years that they hated each other ended up tearing each other's clothes off and going at it right next to the organic produce section of the local Whole Foods. God, I wish I could've seen that." He looked up from his breakfast with an expression somewhere between smug and expectant.

Sam couldn't stop his eyes rolling if he'd wanted to.

"Of course it was the lesbians that hooked you, Dean," he said, pressing his lips together. "I wish I could say I was surprised." He _had,_ in fact, read the whole article - that was the reason he'd selected this hard copy to show to Dean over a couple of others that proved his point just as emphatically.

Sam was glad he hadn't shown Dean the one involving the convent.

"Well, yeah!" Dean replied without a trace of shame. "The only thing that could be better is lesbian twins." He acquired a faraway look as though diverted into a very pleasant daydream.

Sam groaned and devoted the better share of his attention to his whole wheat toast and eggs over easy.

"So, when do we leave?" Dean asked brightly. He shoved an entire sausage into his mouth without bothering to cut it first.

"As soon as you're done stuffing yourself, I guess," Sam said dryly, reaching for the newspaper.

Dean swatted at his hand. "Leave that alone, I might... need it later."

Sam stared, then shook his head and impaled some eggs on his fork. "You are unbelievable."

  
***  


The suburbs were a good place to work. Friendly, without being too in-your-face about it like some rural areas; quick to accept most cover stories, and of course the suburbs tended to have nicer motels and restaurants as well as a larger population to tap for Dean's pool sharking and the other little scams that Winchesters ran to bankroll the family business. They checked into their new accommodations and paid a week in advance – Dean had been making noises lately about putting in more credit card applications and trying a few schemes that would require they stay in town for more than a few days.

There had been so many reporters coming and going through the town recently that posing as yet another pair of them was no challenge at all.

"Like fishing with hand-grenades," Dean had put it happily as he put on the casual, rumpled suit he used for their reporting cover.

They started with a handful of people who had been interviewed for the first stories, claiming they were doing a follow-up. It was even true, in a way.

Sam started out with the softball questions and blunted his brother's edges when Dean threw in the odd, sometimes intrusive questions that got them the weird or offended looks.

"Without telling us anything uncomfortable for you, would you mind giving us a summary of what happened?" Sam asked the seventeen-year old girl who had gotten caught having sex with her married art teacher in the bathroom of a restaurant where the two of them had been having dinner with separate parties.

"Well, I'd always had a thing for Mr. Kramer, you know," the pretty redhead said with a demure giggle. "But out of nowhere, I got hit with the most unbelievable... desire, you know? It was like I was..."

"...like you were compelled, against your will?" Dean supplied, filling in the blank for the teenaged boy when he paused to grope for the right word to describe how he'd ended up having sex with _his_ married soccer coach.

The sixteen-year old boy wrinkled his nose and looked thoughtful. "Well, I don't know about against my will, exactly, but it was really overwhelming. I couldn't resist. And it was like he felt the same way, like he _had_ to have me. It was only later he started saying it was wrong, he'd never do such a thing..." He stopped when Dean looked queasy.

"Was there anything unusual that you noticed about the situation?" Sam asked of the fifty-five year old housewife who had ended up doing it with the pool repair guy. Right next to the pool. To her credit, she was still in great shape.

"...Unusual like what?" the woman said, squinting at him. "I've never gotten the urge to have sex out of doors before. That was unusual."

"Unusual as in, did someone have a chance to slip anything into your drink, or was there any, I don't know, pollen in the air, or has anyone recently stolen your garbage, or had you felt anyone yank out a bit of your hair..." Dean began to list out several possibilities. He folded his arms and aimed an expectant look at the prom queen who had schtupped the school nerd working behind the fast food counter – right on the _counter._

"I...no, nothing like that! The only thing that was weird was those twins coming out of the bathroom and they stopped to watch for a little while before they left the fast food place," the prom queen said, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. "That was gross."

Sam raised his brows at his brother. "Twins...?"

"Yeah, the twins that moved into town about six or seven months ago," confirmed a very pregnant nun. Her round belly was made somewhat surreal by the fact that she was still wearing a habit – one that had been let out to accommodate maternity girth. "They were touring the convent to look at the old tapestries that we have on display."

Dean met Sam's eyes squarely, his mouth compressed to a thin line. "Six or seven months, huh? Interesting. So what's special about these twins?"

"They're both gorgeous," sighed the girl dressed up in Lolita gear, her long blond hair done up in two high plaits to either side of her head. She clasped her hands together and looked so innocent it was hard to believe she'd gone down on a biker gang in the middle of a bar. "The hottest guys in existence. Like walking wet dreams, both of them. I wish _they'd_ gotten ahold of me..."

Dean shook his head a bit and just looked at her, mouth slightly agape.

"So," Sam said, recapturing his brother's attention and giving him a firm nod, "we have to find these twins."

After excusing themselves from their latest mark, they headed back for the Impala at the curb.

"What do you reckon?" Sam asked, cracking the passenger door open and eyeing his brother over the hood. Dean's expression was still faraway, so he could either be focused on the case, or... other things that Sam really shouldn't be contemplating.

"I don't know, fertility demon?" Dean said doubtfully. "If such a thing exists? What's your angle?"

Sam sighed. "It's a long shot. But what about twin incubi?"

"Huh," Dean grunted. "Well, only one way to find out. Let's go see the twins. The way everyone's talking, there's only one set of twins in this town; how hard can it be to track them down?"

  
***  


All diner food was not, in fact, created equal. One of the reliable things about the 'burbs was that they usually had a plethora of reliable chains to choose from. McDonald's had yet to let Dean down. He counted on their Big Macs to balance out a long day of watching Sam try to triangulate location based on the patterns of incidents that had imploded the small suburb over the past seven months.

"Here's a thought, Sammy," Dean had offered. "We could, I don't know, maybe _ask someone where the twins live._ "

Sam had grunted something and waved him off. At that point Dean had decided it was definitely time to feed his little brother, who got cranky when he'd been hitting the books and statistics for too long with only vending machine soda, chips, and cold leftover Chinese for sustenance.

"I don't get it, this seems completely random!" Sam burst out as Dean swung the motel room door shut behind him.

The local McDonald's wasn't staffed with teenagers, for a change. The young woman who took his order was plump and wall-eyed, but she had a pleasant enough smile as she apologized for the fact that they were out of fries and would have to make up a fresh batch.

"No problem," Dean told her, and settled in the far corner of the fast food joint so that he could keep the Impala within view. Ever since Bela had gotten it towed, he'd been twitchy. Sometimes he wished he hadn't quit smoking, because one cigarette was about the length of time it would take for his order to be up. He got up from the booth and messed around by the condiment stand, grabbing some extra packets of ketchup because he liked his fries good and drowned.

When he turned around, Dean collided with a tall, black-haired woman. Gorgeous, was his first thought, followed by a reiteration of _tall,_ because there were very few women that could go eye to eye with Dean without the benefit of heels.

"Excuse me," she said in a sexy voice, both low and husky. Her lovely face was flushed. One beringed hand was smoothing over her straight, layered black hair and the other was tugging her skimpy black dress shirt together.

Dean smirked at the gorgeous woman. She had that wonderful freshly-fucked look, he realized, taking in the sweat that dewed her hairline as well as the intriguing flush over her high cheekbones. It made him want to get on her. "Well, hello there," he said, running through a couple of different pick-up lines in his head. This woman was definitely a few cuts above the level he generally tried to reel in at bars, even if she seemed to be quite a bit more flat-chested. What emerged from his mouth before he'd settled on anything was, "You come here often?"

The black-haired beauty threw her head back and cackled. There was no other word for it. Despite the startling bray of laughter, Dean wasn't off-put at all.

He'd still totally ride her all the way home.

"That's cute," the gorgeous woman told him, reaching up to pat Dean's cheek.

As she did, Dean realized that her nails were painted black and tipped with white. Gothy, he noted, and if possible, that turned him on a little more. He wondered if she was a screamer. She'd probably leave divots across his back and make him like it.

"You must be new in town," she informed him, and Dean gave her a slow blink, following it up with one of his best 'I'm sexy but charming' grins.

"You've got me pegged," he said, wondering why her smile broadened at his words. "I'm Dean Winchester, here doing a follow-up story on the public sexcapades. Don't suppose you have anything new to add to my interview notes?"

One manicured, beringed hand went up to cover her mouth, but not before Dean caught the smile tugging her face wide.

"Or maybe I could arrange a private interview, for the two of us..." Dean continued, lowering his voice.

A white shape loomed in the background, resolving itself into the figure of a tall young man sporting a t-shirt several sizes too large for him. He was sporting the style best known as nineties thug, and he had masses of dark blond hair done up in dreadlocks. They were the best-kept dreadlocks Dean had ever seen on a white boy. His hair was swept up off his surprisingly delicate face with a black and white cap over a black beanie. The pretty-boy thug looped a wiry arm over the gorgeous woman's shoulders and directed an intense dark-eyed stare at Dean.

He turned his head and spoke directly into her ear. "We're done here."

The gorgeous woman wiggled her fingers at him. "Bye, Dean," she said, reaching up to clasp her fingers over her presumed boyfriend's hand, keeping his arm securely around her shoulders.

"Figures," Dean said loud enough for them both to hear as they turned to leave McDonald's. "The best-looking ones are always taken." The wannabe-gangster's shoulders stiffened but the black-haired woman just laughed, slipping her arm around his waist.

"Come on, Tomi," she said.

"You've got to stop being so fuckin' irresistible, Bill," the guy replied.

Dean blinked, and his head swiveled. 'Bill?' Must have been a nickname, he thought, quickly dismissing the alternative. And what the hell was taking his damned fries so long?

He returned to the counter. "Hello?" he called out, then sniffed at the air. "Something burning?" He peered behind the counter and saw a cloud of smoke roiling up from a rapidly-bubbling vat of oil.

Cursing, Dean hopped over the counter, hoping he wasn't going to have to call 911 because someone had stroked out in the back of the restaurant. A couple of emphatic grunting noises reached his ears and apprehension was building up in his belly when he rounded the corner and his sudden suspicion was confirmed.

"Ahh...aww, come ON!" Dean expostulated, throwing up his hands to shield his poor abused eyes. The woman who'd taken his order had her panties down around her thighs and the scrawny beanpole of a young man who had been manning the drive-through was giving it to her over a prep-station table. "Cut it out, or I'm going to throw cold water on both of you!"

They didn't cut it out. In fact, they sped up as though it was going out of style.

Dean spun around, realization clicking into place in the next moment. That woman... _Bill._ 'She' had come out of the restroom area with that just-fucked glow. The restroom was on the other side of the wall from the prep station table. Bill had had the same full lips, high cheekbones, and lovely pert nose as that Tomi guy.

Also, 'she' had had an Adam's apple.

"Fuck me," Dean swore, and scrambled over the counter again. "Goddamn twins, no one ever said..." He trailed off; he couldn't even complete the thought in his _head._ Of course, no one would have said anything of the sort, because good siblings simply did not DO that.

He hit the door running, but he was too late. A big black Escalade was pulling out of the parking lot. One black-manicured hand trailed out the open passenger window as though mockingly waving Dean goodbye and good luck.

  
***  


Dean burst in through the door to the motel room, sending it flying against the far wall with the force of his ingress. It bounced off hard enough to swing itself shut as he stared in Sam's direction, wild-eyed, breathing somewhat erratically.

"Where's my grilled chicken meal?" Sam asked, piqued that Dean had obviously eaten at the restaurant and forgotten, again, to bring anything back for him.

"Fuck your grilled chicken," Dean snapped. He made a sound resembling a strangled sob, then said, "I'm sorry. You don't want to fuck the grilled chicken. I mean, no one wants the grilled chicken. Not after that."

Sam began to close his laptop the moment he realized that Dean wasn't coming into the room with the occasional exuberance that a thirty-two ounce soft drink could provide. He was actually panicked.

"What happened?" Sam asked, half-rising from his chair with his hands spread and lowered. It didn't hurt to approach Dean as though he was a spooked animal when he was in this kind of mood.

"Twins," Dean wheezed, and he whipped around to check the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. He locked the door, then engaged the chain.

"Yes?" Sam prompted, rising the rest of the way from his chair. "I haven't found anything yet."

"I found them," Dean said, swinging around to face Sam. His eyes were wide and his face was somewhat pale. "Or they found me. Whatever."

"Okay..." Sam said, trailing off and hoping that Dean would fill in the blanks with something resembling sense in the near future.

"Twins," Dean said again, and stood there for a moment between Sam and the door. He shuddered. "Someone should have warned me that one of them was a trap." He began to pace in a very short circuit from door to the bed by the window and up toward the nightstand, then back again.

"Dean, you're not making any sense," Sam said through gritted teeth, marveling over his patience.

"A trap, one of the twins was a trap," Dean repeated in tones of rising hysteria. A considering look crossed his face briefly. "A really fucking gorgeous trap... I might still hit it." He groaned.

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded.

Dean stopped his pacing, throwing an incredulous glance over one shoulder. "Do you seriously not know what a _trap_ is, Sammy? What the hell did you do in college?"

Sam pulled a face. "Studied, worked my ass off, and dated Jess," he replied. Mostly in that order, too.

"Okay. Okay, I forget who I'm talking to sometimes, Mr. Diligence," Dean said. He dropped into a seated position on the nearest bed and swiped both hands over his face. "A trap is a really, really gorgeous woman who makes you totally want to do her. Only she's not a woman."

Sam stared. This conversation was making less and less sense. "So...what. She's a demon? A siren? A succubus?"

"No!" Dean huffed, as though extremely annoyed that Sam hadn't just read his mind. He lowered his voice and said something very quietly and fast.

"She's a what?" Sam prodded, sure that Dean hadn't just said she was a band.

"She's a man," Dean said hoarsely.

Sam thought about checking Dean's temperature. Something of this must have showed on Sam's face because his brother scooted back on the bed and shot Sam such a baleful glare that Sam backed up a step, raising his hands.

"A trap is a man; all right, Sam? A really fucking...fuckably gorgeous man that looks so good you just wanna climb right on her and...unh..." Even seated, Dean's demonstrative hip gesture was a little too obscene. Then Dean caught himself and looked a little sick. "Only she's a he."

"Wait," Sam said, raising his brows and deciding he had to sit down for this, after all. "Walk me through this from the beginning. So you found the twins, and one of them is..."

"Fuckably gorgeous," Dean repeated, nodding confirmation.

Sam made an exasperated noise. "That wasn't really the part that needed to be verified, but thanks, Dean. Okay. Tell me what happened."

So Dean did. It was a little rambling, with plenty of hand gestures and detours to emphasize exactly how hot Bill had been, as though Dean was trying to excuse his own attraction even though Sam would have really preferred not to hear about either Bill's hotness or how he rated on the 'want to plow that' scale.

"Oh. Uh. Wow," Sam said, upon Dean's traumatized conclusion. "Did you get a plate number for the Escalade?"

"Fuck you, Sam," Dean said, giving him a rude gesture. "Here I am opening up to you about how awful that whole encounter was, the kind of girly shit you always seem to want to talk about, and the first thing you ask me is did I get the plate?"

Sam shrugged, trying to think how to respond to that. His mind was stuck on 'twins.'

"I did," Dean admitted, pulling out his phone. "You can get an address off this, right?"

Sam leaned over the space in between their beds to peer at the blurry, zoomed-in picture of an SUV bumper. The plate was custom, and read SXYDUO. "Cute," Sam commented, his mouth twitching. "Yeah, Washington DMV's system is a joke, it'll take me maybe half an hour. If you get me a grilled chicken sandwich."

Dean opened his mouth, looking disturbed.

"Not from McDonald's," Sam added hastily.

"All right," Dean said, getting to his feet and scrubbing his hands over his denim-covered thighs. "God, what if they frequent every fast-food place in town? Nowhere would be safe." He looked a little haunted.

Sam shrugged again. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of identical twin brothers getting it on, incubi or not. Did they think of it as masturbation, or were they just kinky?

Dean got the parting shot in as he left the hotel room in search of food for the second time, muttering to himself, "Why couldn't it have been _lesbian_ twins?"

Sam discovered that it was, in fact, possible to hurt himself rolling his eyes.

  
***  


"All right," Sam said at last, shutting his laptop. "I've got it."

"Great!" Dean exclaimed, springing up from the bed where he'd laid out every gun in his arsenal. Over the course of the past hour he had compulsively disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled each one. He may even have given them names if they didn't already have one. It was the kind of mechanical but consuming task that Dean threw himself into when there was something that he really didn't want to confront or think about too much.

Sam got his jacket and stood motionless for a long moment as Dean armed up. He waited as Dean stowed his sawed-off shotgun, began to fidget as Dean strapped on his lucky Bowie knife, and finally decided he had to speak up when Dean was trying to find places to put both the Glock and the Beretta.

"Dean, come on," Sam said impatiently. "I've got the address. That's all we need."

Dean looked up, weighing both guns in his hands as he gave Sam a look that transmitted his uncertainty. Not over _whether_ to take the guns, but which. "Seriously? What's the lore on this, Sam?"

Sam grimaced a bit, knowing this was going to be a hard sell. "The lore is kind of all over the place on this one..." he began.

Dean straightened, setting aside his guns on the towel he'd spread out on the bed while he cleaned the whole collection. He rolled his shoulders as though preparing to go a few rounds of boxing. "Hit me with it."

"We have to catch the twins in the act," Sam blurted.

The look of naked betrayal that crossed Dean's face was on par with the one time that Sam had said, with a great deal of reluctance, that he thought they should sell the Impala. It was too high-profile, too conspicuous, and they'd been on the top ten wanted list at the time. Still, Dean had never quite forgiven him for bringing it up.

"What the f--" Dean began, smacking one thigh dangerously close to the place where his Bowie was strapped.

"Not right in the act," Sam added hastily. "After, as soon as possible after. That's when they'll be vulnerable; they won't be able to put out more of their vibes or whatever so soon after..." He looped his hand over a couple of times in a very abstract representation of coitus.

Dean gave him a blank look. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he told Sam. "And we've dealt with _wishing wells,_ so for me to say that means..."

Sam twitched one shoulder in a half-shrug. He thought it sounded pretty weak, too, but he wasn't about to admit that to Dean when they were on their way to the hunt. "It's what we've got."

"So...how do we take them out?" Dean wanted to know. "Do you want the Glock, or the Beretta?"

"Neither," Sam replied, ignoring the horrified look that Dean shot him, as though he'd suggested they go into battle naked. "Lore was pretty clear on the method. The exorcism passage should work."

"Seriously?" Dean said, disbelieving. "No. It can't be that easy."

"Well, at least I've got the exorcism passage memorized," Sam pointed out. He moved toward the door, bypassing the substantial arsenal that had been laid out on the bed. "We going to do this?"

"Okay, well, I'm bringing a silver knife or two. Just in case," Dean decided.

"You do that, Dean." Sam looked over his shoulder as he waited on the threshold of the hotel room. The waning sun was casting deepening gold sunlight over everything. If they hurried, if everything went well, they'd be home before nightfall. He almost groaned as Dean took a step forward and his leather jacket belled out over the obvious shape of the shotgun. "Dean. Leave the sawed-off."

Dean made a little face, mocking Sam in a falsetto voice, "'Leave the sawed-off.' Next thing I know, you'll be saying no grenades."

" _Dean!_ "

"God, shut up, you're such a girl. I don't have any grenades."

"Dean..."

" _On_ me, anyhow."

  
***  


Dean parked the Impala a few blocks down from the address Sam had located and plotted on his mobile. Even before Dean had cruised into a parking space, he was casing up and down the block and he was impressed. "Maybe they really are fertility gods, or something," he muttered, eyeing up the third heavily pregnant woman he'd seen on just the one city block.

"And that explains all the gay sex, how...?" Sam inquired.

Dean grimaced. "Right, forgot about that." He shuddered a little as he called up Bill's face in his mind's eye way too easily. He still couldn't believe that wasn't a woman.

He'd hit it, oh God, he'd hit it with his car. He'd back up and hit it again.

Every man had a list. Call it a contingency plan, call it idle curiosity; every man had a short list of the five dudes he'd go gay for. Somehow Bill had made it to the very top of Dean's very secret list.

He wasn't convinced Bill wasn't a girl, though. He'd need to see proof. Not just a driver's license; those could be faked.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, with the annoyed inflection that meant he'd been trying to get Dean's attention for at least two "Dean's" worth.

"What!?" Dean snapped back, gaping at yet another pregnant woman, who was so huge and rounded out in front that there _had_ to be more than one baby in there.

"Let's go," Sam said pointedly, and then it registered with Dean that his younger brother was already out of the car and leaning to talk at him through the window.

"Oh, right," Dean said, hastily opening the door. He did visit the trunk, briefly, to get a silver dagger and slide it into his boot. If the mere thought of that gorgeous... _trap,_ he reminded himself, was enough to send him off into a daze, then he wanted to be very well-armed indeed when they encountered the twins again.

Sam was giving him the 'are you kidding' look when Dean jogged around the Impala to join him. That's all right, Dean consoled himself. Sam hadn't _seen_ Bill yet. When he had, he'd understand.

Three blocks later, Dean was getting a crick in his neck with all of the double-takes he was doing as they passed several more pregnant woman either singly, in pairs, or walking with men that were presumably the baby-daddy. "How much further, Sam?" he demanded. He was getting kind of unnerved by all of the blatant reproductive vibes in the air.

"It's the house in the middle of the block," Sam replied.

"Of course it is," Dean said, palming his forehead. Maximum positioning. That way they could hit all the houses all around them when they were having sex at home. _Oh, God, Dean, don't imagine it, don't imagine it..._

The house in the middle of the block was painted a brick maroon sort of color. It was a nice house, black shingled roof, bay window out in front, a large wraparound porch. The black Escalade was parked in the driveway.

"Jackpot," Dean muttered.

Sam motioned to the side of the house, indicating they should go around to the back.

"Ohh," a voice quavered from an open window, and they both froze. "Oh, _oh,_ OH! Harder... yes... _there,_ Tom, right there!"

Sam was frowning. Dean covered his eyes with his hand and wondered if actually crying would make this experience any less horrific. He gestured frantically for Sam to keep moving.

"You're so sexy," a slightly deeper, slightly more nasal variant of the first voice responded. "Fuck, Bill, you're so sexy, gonna make you feel so good..."

"You do, oh, you make me feel so good," Bill moaned, and Dean shoved at Sam's shoulder to get his brother moving again. They stumbled over the driveway on less than silent feet, but given how thoroughly occupied the twins were, it was a safe bet that the Winchesters proceeded undetected anyhow.

A cavalcade of very enthusiastic moans and grunts issued from the house, loud enough for not only Dean but probably everyone in a two-house radius to hear. Dean poked his little brother in the back with his finger to prod him onward until they were standing in the backyard on the fringe of a wildly-untended flowerbed. He cringed when he realized the windows at the back of the house were open, too, and the sounds of the obvious and active commission of incest within continued to reach them, only moderately checked by distance.

Sam swung around, wearing that prissily disapproving expression of his.

"What," Dean hissed.

"You are such a hypocrite," Sam hissed back, in the same barely-moderated tone.

"What are you talking about?" Dean said in a more normal, albeit quiet tone. He was confused by Sam's out of the blue accusation.

"So lesbian twins is the best thing ever, but switch the gender and suddenly it's sick and wrong?" Sam challenged. "Hell, you _had_ yourself a pair of twins, remember?"

Dean's face contracted in a grimace, then he scowled at Sam. When he put it like that... "They're _brothers,_ " he said defensively. He blustered onward, "It's just...it's not right."

"Right," Sam said, sarcastic. "You've got some extraordinary double standards, Dean."

Dean made a shooing motion with one hand, pacing as far up the yard as he possibly could. He could still hear Bill _moaning,_ like the world was coming down around him, damn it, and he was _not_ picturing Bill naked as his dreadlocked gangster of a brother screwed into him slowly. "Well, your timing couldn't be better, Sam," Dean stage-whispered. "Looks like we got here right in time."

Sam still stood at the edge of the flowerbed, his arms wrapped around himself, head down so that his hair flopped into his eyes. He was muttering something to himself and he looked up wild-eyed when Dean spoke to him. "Huh, what? Oh, right."

So they waited.

And they waited.

Sam got out his phone and started texting someone.

Dean checked his watch and wondered if he could go back to the Impala and take a nap.

"OH GOD, TOMI! YES!"

Bill's triumphant shriek made them both jump a little. Dean motioned to Sam and they headed for the back door, crouching beside it, waiting during the lull that followed to make sure they were clear for entry.

Dean was about to get up from his crouch, already getting out his roll of lockpicks when a thump and a groan rang out, startlingly nearby. Eyes wide, he looked over at Sam, who pointed at the door and mouthed, "Kitchen?"

"Oh my God," Dean mouthed back, because the first thump was followed by a second, and a third, and really now it was a series of thumps that could only mean one thing and it probably didn't involve doing laundry.

Sam raised his eyebrows, looking somewhat alarmed as he mouthed, "Again?" It was pretty much a sure thing as someone, probably Bill, whimpered and began to pant.

Dean eased away from the back door, pondered over his unfortunate mental phrasing, and headed for the narrow concrete path that led up one side of the yard. His objective was to put as much space as possible between himself and the all too noisy evidence of the enthusiastic twin-loving going on inside the house.

"What the hell," he muttered, when they'd moved far enough from the back window that he judged it safe to talk.

"They, uh, moved to the kitchen?" Sam answered helpfully.

Dean shot him an angry look and Sam raised his hands as though to say, 'not MY fault.' "What the hell," he repeated. "How long has it been?"

Sam checked his phone. "Half an hour." Without looking at Dean, he stalked over to the furthest point of the yard, such that if there hadn't been a fence he'd have surely been headed to the neighbors' place.

Fuck my life, Dean thought, as the enthusiastic sounds of sex continued from the kitchen. He tried not to look at Sam, because this was somehow different from surfing Pay-per-View channels with the two of them in the room, or putting on porn for Sam's edification, or letting Sam walk in on him when he was having a threesome in their hotel room. This was...the two people fucking within earshot right now were brothers, and he and Sam were brothers, and the ways in which this was wrong were too many to count.

"Oh, come on," Dean muttered under his breath, chagrined.

The banging and moaning and grunting actually went on long enough that Dean's annoyance was joined by an equal amount of reluctant awe. Finally it sped up; at least, the thumping did. There was an amazingly loud smacking noise that made Dean jump skittishly, followed by Tom's voice saying, "Come for me, Bill," clear enough to haunt Dean's dreams, and then Bill squealed in a way that shouldn't have been sexy but sent a jolt straight to Dean's cock anyhow. 

"Tomi," the breathless sigh reached their ears, and Dean shuddered a little.

Dean looked over at his little brother only to find Sam's eyes on him, his expression unreadable. "Okay," Dean said, low, not sure if he was checking or saying it to make it so. "Okay."

All was quiet in the back yard.

Dean checked his watch. "An _hour,_ " he mouthed, somewhat impressed, but also piqued.

"I think they're done," Sam said.

"Jesus, they'd better be done, it's been an HOUR," Dean returned, beginning to creep toward the back steps again. "I've never gone for that long!"

Sam smirked at him. "Maybe you should invest in that little blue pill."

Dean raised his brows. "I think that's what they did," he said, unrolling his lock pick set.

"They're supernatural creatures, you moron." Sam's smirk deepened.

"Hey, I wasn't going to speculate on their anatomy!" Dean shot back indignantly. Then he did. He paused, holding up two different picks against the lock for comparison purposes.

Sam tilted his head at an inquiring angle.

"...Do you think they have, like, magical dicks? You know, like vampires have two sets of teeth--" He caught a look at Sam's incredulous expression. "Never mind."

The kitchen inside was amazingly normal, given the perverted supernatural beings that inhabited it. It was cheery and yellow, with a wooden table pushed up against one window that Dean tried not to look at too closely. There were yellow and white checked curtains and a cheerful white towel with a yellow duck on it had been thrown over one chair.

"I can't believe this," Dean muttered as they passed quickly through the kitchen. He had his knife out low and ready.

"Surreal," Sam agreed, close enough behind him to breathe the words down Dean's neck.

The rest of the house looked normal, too, as they eased through each room. Not blazingly and aggressively normal like the Christmas gods that Dean and Sam had offed a year and a half ago, but as though the place belonged to a couple of actual human beings. Real people, who weren't twins who were fucking and causing a population explosion as well as a wave of public sexcapades.

It had to stop.

They turned down a hallway and Dean came to a skidding halt, making Sam crash into him, as an unmistakable groan broke the silence and he reached a very unfortunate view of an open doorway. He dug his heels in; this was the absolute end.

"Oh, Jesus! Come ON! What the fucking hell!?" Dean yelped before he could stop himself. "You cannot still be fucking!"

There were two figures on the bed: Tom, who turned out to be a rather muscular and fit young man without the layers of baggy clothing, and astride him in reverse cowboy was Bill, who was displaying evidence beyond a doubt of his very masculine anatomy as he moved himself in small decisive hip-rolls atop his brother.

His twin.

"Chafing, man, chafing!" Dean continued incredulously, still taking in the fact that they were actually, well, still _doing it._ It had been more than an hour. 

Bill gave Dean an annoyed but somehow still sultry look from his smoky kohl-lined eyes and flicked dark hair out of his face. "You must have been doing it wrong," he said, stilling his urgent motions for a moment.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tom contributed to the conversation, his hands coming up to rest on Bill's hips.

Dean's eyes zeroed in on the black star tattoo that covered Bill's right hip. It was hot, and so beautifully wanton. If Bill was a chick, he'd get hard just looking at that. Come to think of it, he might actually be hard right now.

Damn it.

"Come on," Dean urged under his breath, averting his eyes from the twins, who were staring at him as though _he_ was the freak. Tom was sitting up from his half-reclining position now and Bill was biting his lip and producing the sexiest little whimper as their bodies shifted and Dean should _not_ be here for this; it was all kinds of wrong. Not hot at all.

When Sam began the first Latin intonations of the exorcism chant, Dean was relieved. There was not a flicker of disappointment. Definitely not. 

Identical looks of confusion crossed the twins' faces. Sam continued reciting the exorcism passage, his voice strengthening, becoming deep and confident. Dean watched with a sense of righteous anticipation up until the point where black smoke should have started belching out their mouths, or they should have started looking at least moderately pained, but as Sam continued extolling the Latin phrases Tom merely tightened his grip on Bill's hips and Bill twitched a fold of blue and crimson patterned sheet over their laps.

The twins began to laugh, Tom leaning into Bill and setting his chin on his brother's shoulder, and that was the point at which Dean's stomach dropped. Something was seriously wrong.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tom asked, in between guffaws.

"Yeah, what is that, Greek?" Bill wanted to know. "Oh! Oh, I get it, it's Latin!"

"Are you trying to say a Catholic mass over us?" Tom snickered. "That's a pretty hardcore conversion method--"

"—and I didn't think the priesthood made house calls," Bill finished, laughing so hard he doubled over. Then he moaned as Tom ran a hand up and down his back, pushing him forward a bit.

"N-no, it's a, an exorcism," Sam stammered, totally thrown off his game.

The twins laughed harder. "Exorcism, seriously?" Bill said, swiping hair out of his face. "And you thought it would work on us...why, exactly?"

"Damn it!" Dean exclaimed, waving his knife in a short glittering arc. "I knew we should've brought the guns; damn it, Sam!"

"Why?" Bill wanted to know, pure curiosity on his face and not the slightest trace of fear. He reached down to grip one of the possessive hands fastened to his hip and he and Tom laced their fingers together.

"Well, we have to kill you!" Dean said, baffled that he actually had to spell it out in so many words.

Bill's eyes widened, but he merely repeated, "Why?"

Dean gestured with his knife. "The population explosion, and all those people banging each other in public, and not even in public but doing it against their will--"

"You're wrong," Tom interrupted him. "Our powers only work on the willing, you know. Jesus, did you two do _any_ research before you came barging in on us?" He shook his head then pushed Bill down onto his hands and knees, rising up behind him and beginning to move in slow but regular motions.

Dean began to avert his face but his gaze got caught on Bill's ecstatic, flushed expression as Bill spoke. "Which means we're the least of your problems right now," he said, biting his lip and looking so rapturous that Dean _had_ to turn away from that.

He came face to face with his brother.

Sam looked right at him, appraising, something solid and beyond determination in his darkening green eyes. The thought crossed Dean's mind that he never, ever should have seen the look on Sam's face while he made up his mind to fuck someone – especially when the subject of that look was _him._

"How sweet, Tomi," Bill crooned, in between pleased little noises that were no longer bothering Dean so much as turning him on, to a distressing and immediate degree. "It looks like these brothers wanted to get it on with each other, too. All they needed was a bit of a push!"

"I'll give them a push," Tom grunted, and Bill cried out in surprise, then began to moan.

Flesh slapped against flesh and all Dean could think about now was how _good_ that sounded, and Bill's happy, sexy utterances were a goad in the background as Dean let himself wonder for the first time in years what kind of texture Sam's skin would have beneath his bare hands. What noises would Sam make; how would _his_ face look, flushed and yearning above him. These were the thoughts that had stayed buried, hidden, even in that final year when he was crossing off the list of everything he'd never gotten for himself but always told himself he wanted.

It all came down to one thing, one last thing that he'd wanted more than anything, and of course it had been off-limits because the whole point was to avoid dragging Sam down to hell with him.

Something sailed over Dean's shoulder and Sam lifted a hand, snagging it out of the air. Dean had enough time to recognize that it was a jar of lubricant before Sam was gripping one freakishly big hand at the neck of his shirt and hauling him toward the couch in the living room. Sam attached their mouths together as though drowning and Dean was his last hope for oxygen and Dean let him, fuck it, he let him because he wanted to, and he'd never do that much on his own but Sam wanted it too. 

Dean never could refuse Sam anything he wanted.

  
***  


Sam pushed Dean onto the couch even as the sounds of enthusiastic sex continued unchecked in the bedroom they left behind them. Dean was wild-eyed, his expression off-balance and confused as he looked up at Sam.

"I want this," Sam told him as he climbed onto the couch, dropping the jar onto the arm. He had to get it out there, he had to make sure Dean knew as he took his brother's face between his hands and bent to kiss his mouth.

Dean turned his head, causing Sam's lips to graze the side of his mouth. He shook his head. "No, it's the..."

Sam gripped his brother's neck at the join of his shoulder. "Dean," he said, trying to transmit everything into the one word, need and apprehension and the all-consuming desire that had been a constant smolder for as long as he'd known what hormones were. It had surged to the forefront earlier, pretty much from the moment he'd heard that first moan of Bill's through the open window, but there _was_ such a thing as discipline.

That didn't seem to matter anymore.

"Incubus pheromones," Dean managed, but his gaze snapped back to Sam as Sam shrugged out of his jacket and began to tug off his shirt.

"Fuck it," Sam said. Bill had said, 'these _brothers,_ ' so Dean wanted him, too. That had pretty much been the only thing holding him back.

He moved in to kiss Dean again and his brother turned his face away. _Fine,_ Sam thought, and went straight for Dean's fly.

Dean sucked in a shocked breath, but there was a hard ridge snaking up one side of his jeans and Sam kneaded it firmly. Before Dean could get any cute ideas, Sam moved in and unbuttoned Dean's fly.

More than once, Dean had made sure Sam knew he subscribed to the old saying, 'any head is good head.' Sam was about to find out if he really meant that.

The moaning in the nearby bedroom increased as Sam got Dean's dick cleared of his zipper and for a moment Sam was unsure of whether the sounds of vigorous sex in the backdrop really were a turn-on, then a broken whimper issued from Dean's throat. It was definitely Dean; that noise was too close to be coming from Bill.

Whatever it took, Sam thought, and sucked the tip of Dean's dick between his lips.

Dean made that sound again, and his legs spread a little, enough to let Sam know he was into it.

It wasn't Sam's first blow job by any means. It wasn't even his first while thinking about his brother. It was, however, very much the first time he'd had a cock in his mouth that he was this excited over, and it was actually _Dean's,_ and he didn't have to pretend anymore.

He closed his eyes and tongued at the head. He tasted salt and moisture, swiped the bitter tang of pre-come as it leaked from the head of Dean's cock, then sheathed his teeth with his lips as he pressed further down.

Dean cried out as Sam went down on him. He stretched his lips over Dean's cock once, twice, then a hand was in his hair; not to drag him off but to guide him as Dean's hips moved up in small but encouraging motions.

He dragged his lips up the length of Dean's cock, enjoying that as much as the soft, pleased noise that worked free of his brother's throat.

Dean's fingers tugged at his hair and Sam lifted his face at last. He wanted to nuzzle at Dean's groin some more, bury his face there and lap at the head of his cock and suck and tongue until his climax spilled into his mouth. Part of the reason, he knew, was because he was still worried about Dean's reaction. He didn't want to see shame or unease on his face; he didn't want a pity-fuck, and he sure as hell hadn't wanted it to go down like this, witched into it by a pair of twin incubi.

When he looked up, though, all he saw was Dean, his face soft and unguarded, lush lips parted as he released quick huffs of breath. "How long, Sammy?" Dean rasped.

Sam started to shake his head, nudging the head of Dean's cock with his mouth. He flicked his tongue out to taste, again, and Dean sagged into the couch with a surprised groan. "I don't know, since forever? Since I knew what sex _was._ "

Dean started to sit up and Sam reacted, pushing himself up. He wasn't sure for a moment how this was going to go; Dean was still hard, Sam was definitely hard, and at some point the noises in the background had faded into nothing.

It was as though it was just the two of them.

Dean grabbed at the side of his jaw. Sam was afraid; his heart swung a rapid pendulum from fear to hope and back again over whether Dean would push him off. His worries were blown away when Dean's mouth crashed against his.

They kissed for the first time since that initial desperate lip-lock in the hallway. This was just as urgent, the assessment crossed Sam's brain even mid-kiss; but there was something more accepting in this. Dean's lips opened readily to Sam's tongue. They necked frantically, Dean's stubble burning Sam's chin, Sam giving his brother unforgiving little nips if Dean was too slow to open his mouth. When Dean began shifting under him, peeling up his shirt, Sam decided that they were both wearing far too many clothes.

Sam went for his jeans first, because he could keep kissing Dean. He was pretty sure he couldn't get enough of his tongue in Dean's mouth. However, there was another place he wanted to get even more.

"Dean," Sam said against his brother's mouth, not sure how his idea was going to go over with his very masculine brother. Much as he'd accused him of overcompensation before, Dean really did come across as very... yeah, so Sam wasn't sure he'd get further than a blow.

"You know what to do with that?" Dean asked, nodding toward the arm of the couch. His voice dragged low and husky. He was taking advantage of the pause to shrug out of his jacket and skim his shirt over his head. When he looked up again, face flushed, lips swollen, Sam had to climb all over him for another kiss.

He eased a thigh between Dean's leg and licked his mouth open, practically groaning when Dean grabbed at his shirt with one hand to haul him closer. He kissed like he fought, all clashing teeth and rough, quick motions. Being on top of Dean like this wasn't much different from the wrestling they'd engaged in when they were younger, or the practice matches when they were somewhat older.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, getting his own jeans open with effort as he kept himself braced above Dean. Who did not exactly make it easy for him, writhing his hips and reaching up to bite at his chin though the extra hand that came between them to tug his cock out of his underwear was a welcome addition.

Half-naked and entwined together on the couch, they froze for a moment as their eyes locked. Dean looked away, his spit-slick lips firming, jaw flexing in a look Sam thought he recognized pretty well. There was something he wanted that he didn't want to ask for.

Instead of saying anything, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and guided it down. He hitched up, pressing Sam's hand against the swell of his ass. "I want--" he began, then turned his face away, cheeks darkening red.

Sam bit back his initial impulse to blurt, _"Really?"_ Since that was exactly what he wanted, he sure wasn't going to complain. He reached back to the nape of his shirt and pulled it over his head one-handed, tossing it away. When he leaned in for another kiss, Dean let him, opening his mouth again and thrusting his tongue against Sam's as though to say he'd bottom, but he sure wasn't gonna just lie there and take it.

When they broke away again, Sam was ready. He had a plan of attack. He eased himself down over Dean's thighs and stripped his jeans off all the way, taking the underwear with them too, shucking everything onto the floor where they joined the growing heap of clothes. He bent his head to take Dean's cock into his mouth again.

"Get on with it, Sam," Dean told him harshly, making Sam look up with a grin. "You put it off too much longer and neither of us are going to last once you finally stick it to me."

"All right," Sam said mildly. "So turn over."

In the distance, the sound of a shower started up. The realization that they were essentially alone was important, but still secondary to the all-encompassing sight of Dean getting up on his hands and knees on the couch, amulet swinging free around his neck.

Sam bit his lip, hard, and squeezed at the base of his cock until the urge to come immediately had passed. When a grain of sense returned, he braced himself against Dean with one hand and remembered something that worked even better to quell his raging hard-on.

"Dean, I don't have anything."

Dean's head craned. "What are you talking about? I saw Tom throw you that...oh."

"Yeah, I don't have any condoms," Sam replied. Dean made a scoffing noise and Sam experienced simultaneous urge to kill and screw, both so strong that he stayed paralyzed where he was behind Dean.

"Of course you don't," Dean answered. 

It was amazing how Dean could be his infuriating brother, and this sexy guy he wanted to mount, all at the same time.

"Because when _was_ the last time you had sex, Sam? Don't answer that," Dean said quickly. "Inner jacket pocket."

"Reserve condom?" Sam said dryly, though he was relieved both that Dean had it and that they weren't going to stop simply because neither of them was stupid enough to risk barebacking.

"You know it," Dean said, and Sam wasn't going to burst his bubble by letting him know there was a 'use by' date stamped on the edge of the foil that let him know exactly how long it had been waiting in reserve.

He set the condom on the arm of the couch for now and swapped it with the jar of lube.

"Can you get on with it?" Dean demanded, in the impatient tone that reminded Sam he was _fucking his brother,_ and that made Sam's hands shake a little but he managed to pry the lid off the jar.

Without over-thinking it, Sam dipped a finger into the jar. It was room temperature, so he pressed one loaded finger to Dean's ass right away, before second or third thoughts could make their way between them. He wrinkled his nose at the rich herbal and musk odor of the lube. The consistency was thicker than any he'd used before, more like moisturizer, but it was definitely slippery and it smelled good enough to stick his tongue in there too.

His finger would do for now. It went in easy, slipping in without any trouble. Dean's head went down and the motion of Sam's finger back and forth dragged a guttural noise out of him, letting Sam know they were good to go.

He went back for more lube before working a second finger into Dean. He pressed in deep, searching with his middle finger.

"Fuck," Dean's voice reached him, muffled, as Sam probed inside.

"There?" Sam wanted to know.

"Almost..." Dean said, panting. He leaned harder on his hands, spreading himself wider. "Hook it; God, you're almost there."

Sam pressed in again, rubbing his fingers through clenching silken heat. Dean was throbbing and tight around him, sucking him in so hard he couldn't stand it; he wanted to get on him right now. Still, it would be better for Dean if he got him looser, if not quite taking his time.

"Come on, Sam," Dean goaded him, sounding as though he was gritting his teeth.

Instead of keeping up the search for his prostate, Sam dipped into the jar again and brought three fingers back, working them in as Dean gasped and made some very lewd noises. Sam started to reach for his own cock, then grabbed Dean's and stroked him roughly. He eased three fingers in, watching as Dean's hole stretched around them, and the only thought in his brain now was that he was going to get in there and _soon._

"Now," Sam decided breathlessly, when he couldn't watch his fingers going in and out anymore.

"Fuck," Dean said, and it sure didn't sound like disagreement.

"Open this," Sam ordered, tossing him the condom. He couldn't do it one-handed, one of his hands still covered with lube, and he sure as hell wasn't going to risk ripping it with his teeth.

"Yes, sir; would you like me to roll it on, too?" Dean responded. He stayed where he was despite his snarky words as Sam placed a hand on the small of his brother's back.

Sam got the condom rolled on and he slicked himself up then just...held himself there for a moment, pressing the head of his cock against Dean's pink, stretched hole. He had to process the enormity of the moment, take in the details, because there was a very high probability that this was never happening again.

He steadied himself against Dean's butt with one hand over his waist and leaned into him, pushing his cock in with the aid of gravity. He was ready to catch himself, halt the movement, if Dean made the slightest indication of pain. Sam's cock sank in without resistance and Dean shifted under him, guiding his movement to get him inside without pausing.

 _You've done this before,_ Sam wanted to say, but it would leave his lips as an accusation so he held back, instead pushing in slow and steady until he could rest his pelvis against Dean's ass. He looked down then squeezed his eyes shut immediately, trying to think unsexy thoughts. Dean was wringing his dick dry and they hadn't even _done_ anything yet. _You've done this before; were you thinking about me?_

Instead he rocked Dean's body forward without pulling out.

"Uhh, uhh," the sound left Dean.

"Oh, God," Sam groaned. He squeezed the skin of Dean's waist, hard, then went for it. He pulled his cock half out of Dean's fantastic ass and pushed back in, his cock disappearing inside as though it belonged there. "You like that?"

Dean braced himself against the arm of the couch and pushed his ass back into Sam's steady, slowly increasing thrusts.

Sam snorted and picked up the pace, enjoying the sound of his skin smacking against Dean's ass. Dean rocked into it at just the right angle, and his occasional yelps let Sam know that they were hitting something dead on every now and then. When they did, Dean clenched down around him and Sam sped up for a bit, balls tightening.

"Yes, yes, Tomi!" Bill's voice exclaimed not so very far off; too far away to be in the room with them, but closer than the bedroom for sure. "Put it in, put it in me; come on, I want it so bad."

"Randy fuckers," Dean muttered. He bent his head and leaned it against one arm as he braced himself against the arm of the couch.

Sam merely grunted, drilling into Dean at the same steady pace. He reached around Dean's hip to grasp him in his lube-slick hand, wiping off the rest on Dean's cock and stroking him at the same time. Dean was hard and dripping wet where Sam thumbed at the head of his cock.

"Harder," Bill moaned breathlessly, and something in the hallway began to bang against the wall.

"What is this, a competition?" Dean yelled. His anxious rocking motions had slowed and Sam pulled at his waist, irked that his brother's attention seemed to be waning even though they were both just as hard.

Bill laughed, moaned as the banging sped up briefly, then yelled back, "We don't get to race other people very often." 

Tom added, "I bet you'll come first." There was a smirk in his voice.

"Just ignore it," Sam said insistently, fucking into Dean a bit harder as Dean went still under him.

"Of course we're going to come first," Dean muttered in an aggrieved tone. "They've been going at it for hours, they've obviously got some...ridiculous supernatural stamina."

Sam laughed, closing his eyes as his belly tightened and pleasure coiled even tighter in that place where he was joined to Dean. "You're seriously worried about it," he stated. He began to shake his head. "Then I'm not doing it right." He pulled out, ignoring Dean's protests.

"What are you...Sam, what are you..." Dean began. He shut up when Sam turned him over; it did require some cooperation on his part to make sure he didn't roll off the couch.

Sam grabbed a pillow that had been pressing against his heels. He squashed it underneath Dean, looped both of his brother's legs over his shoulders, and pushed into him again.

"Ohhhhhh my God," Dean groaned.

"You want to be competitive about it?" he murmured, sinking his cock deep into Dean until his balls were flush with his brother's body and Dean's eyes rolled back into his head. "I'm going to fuck you until you come all over their goddamned couch, how's that? They're going to need it dry-cleaned by the time we're done with it."

Dean moaned something incoherent but enthusiastic, and rolled his hips up in response.

Now Sam drilled into him without stopping. He was transfixed not only with how his cock felt going in and out of Dean's body, but the look on Dean's face as he panted and strained up to meet him and went red in the face when their eyes met. Dean kept his eyes closed most of the time and Sam couldn't keep his eyes shut for a single second, because he didn't want to miss the slightest detail of the expressions that worked over his brother's face. Especially as none of them had anything to do with guilt.

"Come on," Sam urged, barely aware now of the ruckus and thumping and moaning keeping pace with them down the hall. Dean was so tight around him, and they were grunting and groaning together, speeding up as everything closed in on heat and frantic fast motion and the need to come.

Sam worked his cock into his brother until they both forgot what had set this off; until the only sounds they could hear were the ones that came from each other. He leaned in and set a palm over his brother's heart, close to the tattoo that matched the ink on Sam's own skin. "Let go, Dean," he said, and pressed in deep to drop a kiss over his brother's mouth.

Dean bit him, sobbed something unintelligible against Sam's parted lips, and hot come jetted against Sam's belly.

He was so tight, so perfect that his orgasm set off a chain reaction in Sam's body. He kept moving, kept pumping his hips and he rubbed a thumb over the curve of Dean's jaw, seeking out another kiss to send him over the edge.

Dean licked at his mouth, pushing his tongue in. There was an ecstatic cry somewhere nearby and they both jerked, then Sam moaned against Dean's tongue as it stroked his. His steady thrusts stuttered and he was there, his entire attention collapsing to a fine point as Dean's body clenched down around his cock and Sam spilled into the condom.

He laid atop Dean for a long moment, bits and pieces of sensory information filtering back to him as he came down from the high of his orgasm. Bill was still yelling somewhere, the banging noises were going louder than ever, and Tom was grunting steadily. Sam was hot, sticky, and utterly spent; but he didn't want to move. The musky floral-herbal scent of the lube mingled now with the smell of sweat and fresh sex. Sam shifted atop Dean, getting himself into a more comfortable position.

"Oh, fuck no, I'm not snuggling with you on the couch, Gigantor," Dean's voice informed him, muffled, from somewhere in the vicinity of his neck. "Get off me, I need to...I need to go to the bathroom."

Sam sighed and rolled off the couch, grabbing his jeans and casting about for a tissue or something to dispose of the condom. He knew Dean through and through. That was the sound of panic setting in, and it had definitely been too much to expect that this had been some kind of breakthrough.

  
***  


There was no greater indication of failing a hunt than being served coffee by one's marks in their cheery yellow-accented kitchen.

Sam accepted the coffee, noting as he took the handle that it was a Tweety Bird mug blazoned with the script "vivacious," and he avoided meeting the eyes of either twin as they settled at the table across from him.

Dean was still in the bathroom, as he had been for the past twenty minutes. Sam didn't really want to think about what that meant. He was sure, though, that once his brother did emerge it would be with the mask of denial firmly in place.

Bill was smiling at Sam from across the table; a wide, unfettered grin. He was still mussed, flyaway hair sticking up in a couple of directions, the glow of sweat proclaiming he hadn't yet showered for a second time, and he was wearing a high-necked wraparound dressing gown that made Sam see now why Dean had declared him to be a 'trap.' He was beautiful, and he was radiant and clearly happy. He had been the one to offer coffee after Dean had bolted for the bathroom, and the domestic ritual had put them firmly on 'probably not going to kill' footing.

"If he comes out of there swinging that knife of his, I'm going to drop him to the floor," Tom announced, sitting up straighter on the chair beside his twin and slinging an arm over the back of Bill's chair. By contrast with his brother, he was completely dressed in a white t-shirt large enough to use as a sail, and immense jeans belted low on his lean hips. His dreads were bundled atop his head like some kind of warrior crest. While not as obvious about it, there was a definite glow to Tom that hinted as to his recent activities as well.

Sam's mouth twitched. Tom, at least, appeared to have a realistic assessment of Dean's reaction to what had occurred in the wake of the pheromone-induced sex fest. "At this point, I couldn't blame you."

Tom nodded, appearing satisfied.

Bill leaned forward, lacing his impeccably-manicured hands together atop a spring green placemat. "I'm sure you have questions...?"

"Sam," Sam introduced himself with a little grimace. He'd actually had sex on their couch – hell, they'd had a bit of a race going on – and the twins didn't even know their names. Tacky to the extreme. "My brother is Dean. Winchester."

Neither twin betrayed any recognition at the name. Tom sipped at his coffee, and Bill continued to look encouragingly inquiring.

"So," Sam began, ready to put out the question that had been simmering at the back of his mind. "So, um. How is it that your pheromones didn't work on us right away? I mean, we waited outside for... for awhile, you know, and we didn't start doing it in the backyard, or anything."

A throat-clearing noise issued from behind him and Sam tensed before he could stop himself. He cocked his head to the side and laid eyes on Dean. His brother's head was ducked, one hand rubbing at the nape of his neck as he avoided Sam's gaze.

Bill rose to his feet swiftly but gracefully, his chair scraping back from the table as he stood. "Coffee?" he offered, as Dean stood hovering in the doorway to the kitchen.

Dean cleared his throat again. "Please."

"That's a good question, Sam," Tom spoke up, ignoring the tension in the room as Dean arranged himself against the counter with the clear intention to remain there, rather than taking the open seat beside Sam. "I guess it's more like an aura than pheromones, but whatever. And as far as we can figure it, different couples are affected at different rates."

Sam caught Dean's wince at the word 'couples.' Then again, he'd just accepted a mug of hot coffee from Bill and it had a Hello Kitty logo on it, so the source of the wince was disputable.

"Yeah, it would be so much more troublesome if absolutely everyone within our radius started going at it every time Tom and I got aroused," Bill added helpfully, then gave a manic little cackle. "Can you imagine? Going to the restroom for a quickie and coming back to find the whole restaurant mid-coitus." He laughed again, sliding back into his seat beside his brother. The two of them shared a quick grin.

Sam had to look out the window, fighting a smile unsuccessfully. Not at Bill's joke, but the way he and Tom were looking at each other. He'd seen married couples look at each other with less passion.

"Though, the couples affected the fastest are usually those who've been denying their attraction in some way," Tom said with a frown. He gestured widely with his half-empty cup. "I'm surprised the two of you weren't doing it out in the bushes."

Without looking at his brother, Sam replied, "Yeah, well, suppressing my urge to jump Dean wasn't exactly a _new_ urge, so I guess I was able to hold it off until your, uh, aura was overwhelming."

"Hmm." Bill smirked at his twin.

"Please don't have sex in front of us again," Dean entreated, when it looked as though one or the other would lean in for a kiss.

Tom straightened. "Hey, that was your idea, busting into our house like that. Not our fault you surprised us in the middle of sex. Which we usually manage to do in private, by the way, even if it's a bathroom stall."

Dean held up his hand. "That's, ugh. That's more information than I really want to know."

"I'm still curious about something," Sam put forth. He cradled his coffee mug in both hands but he wasn't much interested in drinking it any longer. "What's the deal with the two of you?" The fact that neither he nor Dean was pulling weapons right now didn't mean they'd settled the issue of whether the twins constituted a supernatural threat.

Tom and Bill exchanged another glance, a speaking sort of look.

"We didn't know we were different until we hit puberty and suddenly couldn't keep our hands off each other," Bill said with a half-shrug. "We didn't know our real parents; we got dropped off at an orphanage when we were babies."

"When the hormones hit, we did that the way we'd done pretty much everything up to that point; together," Tom added. "And when it happened, anyone within a certain radius got affected too."

"They started having sex when we got all hot and bothered for each other," Bill clarified unnecessarily.

"Incubi?" Sam ventured.

Tom and Bill exchanged a puzzled glance. "Don't incubi have sex with women?" Tom questioned.

"Uh, well..." Sam began, and stopped because it was true. Most of the lore he'd found indicated that incubi slept with women. Some articles had indicated they were aggressively heterosexual, as a matter of fact. "So, what, then?"

"The best we can come up with is projective empathy with a selective focus," Tom said, steepling his fingers together.

"It's as good an explanation as any," Bill said, waving a hand then examining his nails. "Anyhow, we can't really control it, but it only happens when we have sex."

"Which you do quite a lot, apparently," Dean interjected, then buried his face in his coffee mug.

Tom's head lifted and he narrowed his eyes at Dean. "We can't exactly stop," he said. "We tried that when we were younger. Going without, I mean."

Bill shuddered. "The rebound was so bad, we affected an entire city for three days."

Sam's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Look up the Portland birth statistics for 2006," Tom replied.

Sam's brows rose. He was still trying to pin down what they _were._ They both seemed human, normal, except maybe for the marked lack of shame over sexuality or incest. He wasn't sure he bought their explanation, though. "So... what about, well, getting with other people?" Sam reasoned. "People who aren't incubi; I mean projective empaths, or whatever you are. Does that cause the same..."

Tom's lip curled and Bill looked furious enough to rise up from the table and throttle Sam.

Dean shifted against the counter in a way that let Sam know he had a hand on a weapon.

"We...we think we imprinted on each other," Tom said. At Sam's blank look, he elaborated, "Sexually. Neither of us can tolerate the thought of the other getting with someone else."

"You think Tom is possessive?" Bill continued, leaning forward to look at Dean. "I almost killed a girl when Tom tried it." His hands curved into claws briefly, then he smoothed them out flat over the top of the table and glanced at Tom, who rubbed a hand over his shoulder.

"Okay..." Sam said, eyeing his brother, then realizing Dean was still not swapping glances with him.

"Tried some way to do it that doesn't affect everyone in the vicinity?" Dean said gruffly.

Tom and Bill exchanged another look, this one more of an eyeroll.

"You really think we haven't?" Bill began.

"We've tried a lot of different things--" Tom continued.

"—and it doesn't matter, whatever we do--" Bill interjected.

"—unless we were to take up residence someplace in the wilderness, like monks or the Unabomber--"

"—out of the question!" Bill finished, with a decisive wave of his hand. "Neither of us even like camping out, and we have to make a living; and besides, all we're doing is spreading the love. Uninhibited love! That's a blessing for a lot of people."

"This isn't the sixties, you can't just go spreading your free love vibes around," Dean sputtered. He tossed the last of his coffee in the sink, set his mug on the counter, then stormed out the back door to the kitchen. The door banged shut behind him and the glass in the window rattled.

Sam sat back in his chair, looked at Tom and Bill, who regarded him with identically inscrutable expressions – Bill's right brow was raised – and all he could do was shake his head. "He's...yeah. It's been building for years, so the two of you did us a favor, but he'll never see it that way. Whatever, just... why don't you move to someplace less, uh, populated?"

Bill and Tom stared at him, both sets of dark brows lowering. "We were in an apartment complex in the heart of Vancouver last year," Tom said.

"We kind of thought this was an improvement," Bill concluded.

Sam imagined them setting off an entire city block; shuddered. "Okay, well... can you try to be more careful? You'll get more hunters coming after you, if you keep this up."

Bill's face lit up. "Sam! You're concerned for us? Thank you, how thoughtful." 

"I've always wanted to try buying beach-front property; it might be better if we had some acreage to ourselves," Tom said consideringly.

Bill placed a hand over his brother's, thumb stroking over Tom's.

"You're right, we haven't been discreet," Bill said at last. "I do think sometimes we're doing good, though. Breaking down artificial barriers to natural attraction--"

Tom squeezed Bill's hand, and Bill shut his mouth with a snap.

"Lube for the road?" Tom asked, rising as Sam got up from the table.

"Oh...I don't know," Sam said somewhat awkwardly. "Not, uh, not sure we're gonna need it."

"Really?" Bill said, wide-eyed. "After that? But it sounded so good!"

He was so earnest about it, Sam couldn't help but grin.

"Thanks, but... the whole being brothers thing, it's a bit more of an issue for some of us," Sam said wryly.

Tom started to laugh, patted Bill's shoulder, and left the room, giving Sam a nod in passing.

"It's okay," Bill said, curling his hands around his own coffee mug. "Tomi fought the hook, too. I think it's a big brother thing. Of course, I had certain advantages." He winked.

"Tom's the elder, huh?" Sam said, mildly intrigued. Come to think of it, he did kind of get that vibe from the two of them.

"Yeah, ten minutes," Bill said. He reached for Sam's abandoned Tweety mug, then his own, and walked the mugs over to the sink. He flashed a brief sample of his wide, sweet smile over his shoulder. "I can't exactly say thanks for dropping by, but I guess...thanks for the reality check, Sam."

"No charge," Sam replied, giving Bill a brief smile as he headed for the door.

"Don't give up," Bill said seriously. "He's the older brother; he'll try to put a stop to it 'for your own good.' But if you really want it, Sam, just keep pushing. He'll cave if he wants to make you happy more than he wants to protect you."

Sam blinked. That made a perverse kind of sense.

"Bye, Bill. Try to stay out of trouble," Sam told him.

"Oh, I think the best we can hope for is staying out of jail."

Shaking his head, Sam left the twins' house and retraced his steps back to the Impala. He stood on the curb for a long moment, hands in his pockets, watching Dean stare out the window with one hand on the wheel and his left arm propped on the car door.

Finally Sam cracked the passenger door open and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him. Dean didn't even flinch.

Sam fumbled at his seatbelt before giving up, staring straight out the window. "We--" he started, beginning to shape the inevitable, _we gonna talk about this?_ that was always followed by Dean's adamant 'shut up' because they never talked about it. It wasn't the Winchester way.

"Their powers, their whatever it is, their pheromones, their aura – it only works on the willing," Dean said. He was facing forward, gripping the steering wheel in both hands now.

"So it would seem," Sam said, not even risking a sidelong glance.

"It's sick," Dean said. "It's wrong."

"Yeah, well, what's done is done," Sam said, with a tone of finality. "Can we go?"

Dean started the car, muttering something that was lost to the roar of the Impala's engine rumbling to life.

Sam thought he might have heard it anyhow.

_I'd do it again._


End file.
